| - play crack the sky, I will play my game beneat the spin light
What to make of onetwenty
Choking back the sharp hint
Seventy times in sixty
Twenty four in another
One hundred thousand and eight hundred dull thuds
Pangs and shudders felt below, behind contrived smiles
Muted all, twenty five milligrams at a time
Nights spent shivering
Days spent shivering
Cold and grey,
slowly slipping into and away
All of this through me
Around me
From me
All the worlds’ a player and I am merely stage
Hollow pine rotting beneath the pressure of all the decay
Wishing to slip away unnoticed
Begging to be noticed all the same
Running together, it blots out
The glass slowly stains, chips, falls away
Seven more milligrams and seven more
Haze flows out
in the end, up and away
Till all heat is lost, till it fades
Dissipates, forgotten
Except that we know, it was there
The feeling the scent the burn in our eyes
The constant choking back
One in to the other, seven and twenty-five
Three thousand one hundred and fifty
Slowly counting, waiting,
Pulling, constricting,
Pessimists hope too, only for different ends to the same means
Torque |